Category Archives: humor

goodness, humor, life

Y’know what’s awesome?

Now and then I think, “Y’know what’s awesome?” followed by whatever just caught my fancy.  I should have started writing these down a long time ago, but I didn’t, so I’m starting a segment called…

Y’know what’s awesome?

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Building Romantic Tension

lopsided and mushy, this heart is completely accurate

I was reading this online comic today where these two friends (boy/girl) hang out.  The girl tells the guy he needs to start dating.  The next day the guy wakes up, looks at a photo of the two of them, and calls up some other girl for a date.  Ok, so not the most romantic setup in the world, but you know something’s gonna happen!  And I want it to!  Everyone loves that feeling.

fluffy!

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Clouds

I fucking hate getting soaked in my work clothes, but I genuinely don’t mind getting rained on in my normal, everyday attire.  Clouds are fucking beautiful, even if the rain they produce is occasionally a pain in my ass.  Whenever there’s any rain in LA, I find myself staring at the clouds (they’re pretty exotic here).  I don’t even realize I’m doing it sometimes.  Clouds always make me smile, even if things suck at the time, and rain is depressing or whatever.  Still, clouds are the best.  Especially those big billowy ones.

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goodness, humor

FedEx adventure!

I picked up a package from the FedEx facility downtown today.  It was like visiting a foreign dignitary in a third world country.  Hard to find, then there was a surprising amount of security, then it was a piece of shit.

I got off the freeway and followed my gut south (the directions the FedEx lady gave me were crap).  I passed over a bridge, turned onto the right street, drove past a set of railroad tracks…

were they even functioning?

and then past warehouse after seemingly abandoned warehouse until I reached what appeared to be a cul-de-sac.  But no!  There was this weird entrance with a small sign that said “Customer pickup” on the chain mail fence topped with razor sharp barbed wire surrounding the rest of the cul-de-sac.  On I drove toward what could only be an air strip, given all the chain mail fencing and open tarmac.

it was a quarter mile long

A parking lot!  With weird buildings on one side…

rusty and creepy

…and a train on another side…

it wasn't moving

…and a whole lot of nothing everywhere else.  I asked a man in a uniform walking past my car for directions.

“Excuse me, I’m here to pick up a package.”

Without looking at me, “Just park and head over to the guard building.”  Then he started walking away without pointing to where said building might be.

“Where is the guard building?”

“Over there.”  Then he walked away with certainty.

I looked toward where he had indicated.  A small shack with windows and a few doors surrounded by fencing and… more nothing.  I parked and decided this experience was too weird to not snap a few photos.

I headed to the shack, walked past the “Exit” door, past the sign that said “No weapons beyond this point” and into the “Entrance” door.  There I found two guards.  The White Guard was helping two other men through one of two metal detectors.

White Guard shot me a look

The other guard, Hispanic Guard, asked for a door tag, or something with the tracking number on it.  I gave it to him, he made a call, came back and asked for my ID.  “I need to check you in,” Hispanic Guard said.

I said, “Ok… Am I going somewhere?”

“Yeah, right across there to get your package.”  He indicated across the tarmac to a large building.  He politely took down my information, passed me through the metal detector, passed a wand over me, poked through and then closed my purse, double checked to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, and told me to “follow the blue line.”

i lost track of it pretty quick

I followed the line to the building (after losing it once or twice while I wandered around), where my eyes needed to adjust to the darkness.  For a ground floor with no walls, this area was depressing and dark.  No one was around.  The stillness was eerie.  A few echoing clunks and clicks let me know that a machine somewhere was struggling to do its job.  I walked past a motionless conveyor belt with packages waiting to be processed on it.  It looked like a dead snake with a few mice taking a disappointing ride on its back.

it was pathetic

I kept following the blue line.

it collided with a green line, which led to the same place

It led me to an office where two dismal women checked my ID (again), had me sign something, beeped the bar code on the package, and sent me on my way.  I followed the blue line back to the guard station.  Hispanic Guard opened the door for me and passed me through the metal detector while White Guard chilled out.  I thanked him and left, feeling like I had just gone on a quick trip over the U.S./Mexico border and back.  Adventure!

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goodness, humor

Essie beastlie!

Essie is just the sweetest little thing.  Her dark little spots and bright shining fangs make me smile every time I see her staring up at me.  What a cutie.

When I first saw her, I knew I had to have her.  I showed her to Diminutive Roommate, who then said, “Wait!  I’ll get her for you for xmas!”  And she did.

What a nice little family of creatures I have now!  I think, for balance, I’d like to have a bright yellow or orange beastlie, preferably a gargoyle type, so the other beastlies are aware of their various types of relations.  Maybe I can ask for a custom order?

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humor, life

My building is full of communist psycho hookers

I can’t believe it never occurred to me to write about my neighbors.  I’ve never really had any crazy neighbors.  Shitty landlords, yes.  Crazy landladies, yes.  But my neighbors have always been, for the most part, quiet, normal people.  The people who currently live directly adjacent to me are all weird in totally obvious, potentially explosive ways.

I live at the end of a hallway, so I only have three neighbors with whom I have any kind of interaction: across the hall, next door, and directly above me.  Let’s get started with…

Neighbor Across the Hall

The woman who lives across the hall from me is definitely a hooker.  She’s super nice, and has lots of male suitors.  I once came into the building to discover a man standing awkwardly at her door, gift in hand.  His head snapped toward me when I came into view, sporting a perfect deer-in-the-headlights expression.  I smiled and said hi, then tried to get into my apartment as quickly as possible.  Just as I was about to step out of the hall, her door opened, and, being the woman she is, instead of rushing him into the apartment and ignoring me, she sang out her usual, “Hey gurrrrl!  How are youuuu?”  I turned around to find her in a somewhat see-through teddy with matching fuzzy slip-on heels.  We chatted right in front of her John for a minute before I slipped inside.  The woman has serious… what’s the female version of balls?

suuuuper soft

Her apartment is on the tacky side, but it’s fucking decked out.  When I complimented her huge flatscreen TV, she said, “My boyfriend gave that to me.”  Her bedroom is covered in deep reds, leopard print duvets, and a giant gold-framed mirror covers the entire wall next to the bed.  Scented candles and small glass bottles of perfumes cover every counter top.  She breeds the fluffiest, friendliest, most talkative Siamese cats I have ever had the pleasure of meeting.  The kittens occasionally find their way onto our balcony, where they pass out and act cute (and get harassed lovingly by Boyfriend, who never had a pet growing up so he’s pretty taken with them).  She’s had a ton of plastic surgery, which includes enormous breasts, a tight face and puffy lips.  But she is by far the friendliest neighbor we have.  When we moved in, she offered to loan us her spare furniture (which we took her up on), brought us food, and invited us over all the time.  I don’t really know what to make of her, but she’s always been nice to us, and seems to run a pretty tight ship, so all I can say is thank you, Hooker Neighbor, for being so nice all the time.

Neighbor Next door

The guy who lives one door down the hall from me has a balcony that covers almost the whole side of the building, and inexplicably stretches past my bedroom window.  He could look right into my bedroom while smoking a cigar on the comfort of his patio.  The annoying bit is where he leaves his patio sliding glass door open and watches movies at full volume at all hours.  The sound bounces off the apartment next door, and into my bedroom (in addition to passing through the paper-thin wall our apartments share).  These must be pretty fucking funny movies too, because his laughter pierces the night occasionally, snapping me out of my simmering rage into a sharp fury, which is usually when I call the non-emergency LAPD line to make a noise complaint.

he shares noise like a good communist should

Once during the winter Olympics he had a party going until around 2am.  When I went over to ask him to quiet down, he said, “Sorry, sorry, our friend just won a ski thing, it’s very exciting!  You want some vodka?  We have so much!”  Ok, I thought, that’s a legitimate reason to celebrate.  Then the cops showed up to shut that shit it down.

He works in real-estate, so he’s constantly yelling into his phone about one emergency or another with clients who live halfway around the world.  Oh, did I not mention he’s Russian?  Yeah, he’s Russian.  So when I went over there to ask him to quiet down around midnight on a Wednesday, he apologized and explained that the people he’s talking to just woke up!  How quirky!  Have fun with that!  Quietly!

He also has had several loud fights with his wife.  When it gets really bad, the cops show up.  I can’t understand anything they say, because he always yells in Russian, which makes it scarier.  So when he offers me vodka, I decline, and tell him to quiet the fuck down.

UPDATE: March 14, 11:32am

This past week has not been good for my relationship with Russian Neighbor.  He was unreasonably loud around midnight on a weeknight (again), so I called management to quiet him down.  It worked.  The next night around 1:30am, he slammed the metal door to his balcony directly in front of my bedroom window three times over the course of about fifteen minutes.  The third time, I got up, booted up my compy, and email management who FINALLY gave him a verbal and written official first warning.  FINALLY.

Neighbor Directly Above Me

voopah, voopah, voopah

My favorite part about the guy who lives above me also happens to be the part that makes me a bit frightened of him: he’s very mysterious.  No one seems to know much about him.  In fact, I was so intrigued by him that when I saw a package on top of the mailbox with his apartment number on it, I snatched up the chance to interact with him and delivered it to his apartment myself.  The following interaction is exactly how I expect a serial killer to address me.  I knocked on the door, and he opened it about four inches.

Me: Hi there!  I live in the apartment below you.  I saw this package on top of the mail box when I was grabbing my mail.

Him: [squirly eyes]  Yeah, thanks.  [takes package, opens the door just enough to bring it inside and starts to close the door]

Me: [on tip toe]  What’cha doin’ in there?  Buildin’ somethin’?

Him: Yeah, I used to build things.

Me: Oh cool- [door closes]

So clearly he’s a serial killer, right?

According to the sounds that get drilled through his floor, we’ve gathered that he’s building something using wood, and power tools.  We can occasionally hear him using a hand saw (not a table saw, not an electric saw, the traditional kind) and hammer.  Once in a while, he’ll roll something that sounds like a giant wooden gear across the floor, making a very distinctive knocking sound across our ceiling.  I picture him building coffins.

So here’s the breakdown:

Hooker Neighbor: B+ Minus a full grade for whoring, but a + for being cool about it, and not bringing around a bunch of crackheads.

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Russian Neighbor: C- Minus one full grade for domestic abuse, and another for keeping me awake all the time, plus a – for being a non-exotic kind of foreigner (Communism is so 1991).

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Psycho Neighbor: B- Minus a full grade for being creepy, and a – for not telling us what he’s up to.

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goodness, humor, life

The sound of patriotism

The United States has the greatest national anthem in the world.  It’s a bold anthem which, instead of ending with a strong statement of our worth, wonders if it was all worth it.  I especially appreciate no mention of a god (which is somewhat unusual in modern national anthems) because anthems are for and about the people, not their religious beliefs.

The US national anthem is not just your typical, “bless this land, which is ours by the way, and it’s it pretty?”  It’s a challenge to future generations to be as unified and courageous as its past generations.

I love that it questions its citizens.  “Does that symbol for which we fought and died still represent something for which another generation would fight with equal valiance?”

O say, can you see by the dawn’s early light
what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming,
whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?
And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
O say, does that star spangled banner yet wave
o’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Now let’s have a look at a few other national anthems for contrast.  Let’s start with our neighbor to the north, Canada (which I can sing from memory, oddly).

O, Canada, our home and native land,
true patriot love from all your sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
our true north, strong and free.
From far and wide, O Canada,
we stand on guard for thee.
God, keep our land glorious and free
O, Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O, Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

All I can say about this national anthem is that it assumes a lot.  Against whom do they stand on guard?  Who are these people that are so ready to invade Canada that the entire populace must reaffirm their dedication to its defense?  Plus, I’m pretty sure most other countries are asking god for help in their anthems, too, so don’t hold your breath, Canada.

Next is France!  With one of the most recognizable melodies in the world, France’s national anthem is also one of the most bloody due to its origins: the French Revolution!

The French national anthem is long as hell, so after the whole first verse and chorus I’ll just pull out a few of my favorite parts to give you an idea of what it’s like:

Arise, children of the Fatherland,
The day of glory has arrived!
Against us, tyranny’s
Bloody banner is raised, (repeat)
Do you hear, in the countryside,
The howling of those ferocious soldiers?
They’re coming right into your arms
To slit the throats of your sons and consorts!
Chorus:

To arms, citizens, form your battalions,
Let’s march, let’s march!
Let impure blood water our furrows!

Yikes!  Using the blood of the enemy to water your crops?  That’s fucking metal.  What a picture to paint, all of it!  So brutal.

It goes on to include gems like this:

Frenchmen, for us, ah! What outrage
What fury it must arouse!
It is us they dare plan
To return to the old slavery!

Hey, they’re trying to make us slaves again!  Fuck that!  Get angry, you French people!

Tremble, tyrants and you traitors…
…Everyone is a soldier to combat you.

…as long as they’ve retained their right to bear arms.  But seriously, I picture farmers rushing a line of fully armed invaders with their pick axes and back hoes.  Pretty great.

The last verse might be the best for its evocative sense of honor.

We shall enter in the (military) career
When our elders are no longer there,
There we shall find their dust
And the trace of their virtues (repeat)
Much less jealous to survive them
Than to share their coffins,
We shall have the sublime pride
Of avenging or following them.

Ok, so the French are giving us a run for our money in the “World’s Best National Anthem” contest.  Theirs is pretty fuckin’ awesome.  But minus points for length.  Or whatever.

Oooo-kay, I just had a look at the full lyrics of the British national anthem, God Save the Queen.  It’s about as good as it sounds.  Lots of divine evocation, no mention of the citizenry, super dull.  But the lyrics used to include another verse (for a very short time):

May he sedition hush,
and like a torrent rush,
rebellious Scots to crush,
God save the King.

Haha, oh no!  Not the Scots!  Leave them be, King George II!  Bad king, no!

Japan.  Wow.  Leave it to Japan to make me feel stupid.  What a pretty anthem.  Very short and pretty, but not a whole lot to say.  Tough to inspire the citizenry to take up arms to defend their country with such an understated, slowly paced song.  But that’s so Japanese, lol.

May your reign
Continue for a thousand, eight thousand generations,
Until the pebbles
Grow into boulders
Lush with moss.

Touché, Japan.  Touché.

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badness, humor

I fall out of love with Rubio’s

This weekend was a shit show for me health-wise.  I’d been sick all week.  Saturday I covered for another sensei, then sped up town to see a therapist with Sister re: mom.  I stopped at the Rubio’s near my apartment (which I have on speed dial), picked up my usual order (shrimp burrito), and ate on my way to the appointment.  About twenty seconds after I get in my car to head home after the meeting, things started getting shifty toward my mid-section.  Apparently that shrimp burrito was disagreeing with my stomach, and my stomach was disagreeing right back.

without warning, the shrimp laid waste to my esophagal lining

Back home, Diminutive Roommate was busy cleaning up and making a mess.  She had 30 Rock on, and doted on me as my condition worsened.  After a couple episodes of Liz pretending she was pregnant and Kenneth talking about turtles, it was time.  Time to hurl.

Then it was time to feel sorry for myself, and self-medicate with some Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Musical episode!  Cooler than I expected!  New favorite character: Spike.  Stomach getting spewly again, take some Pepto Bismol.  Not as gross as I remember.  Awesome.  Text Karate Boss that I won’t be in tomorrow.  I feel a little better.

Too much stimulation.  Lie down.  Feel worse.  Hurl again, furiously.  Break into a sweat, peel off layers.  Go back to bed.  Sleep for two hours.  Wake up feeling shitty.  Where the fuck is Boyfriend.  Someone should be touching my head and cooing.

Diminutive Roommate pops her head in to let me know she and her date are going to a nearby Indian place I like.  I graciously decline: “Wow, that sounds just awful.  Thanks though, have fun.”

More Buffy.  Giles, don’t go!  Again!  Back to bed without sleep.  Boyfriend FINALLY shows up.  I fake sleep at first, then decide softly moaning is the best way to make him feel guilty for having dinner with an old friend he hasn’t seen in five years.  It totally works.  Lots of cooing and hair stroking ensue.  I feel a little better.

I fucking love pumpkins

He drives us to the Japanese market/food court nearby.  I get my favorite: breaded pumpkin, soy sauce on the side, just $2!  Delicious.  Boyfriend gets kontatsu (breaded pork) on rice with curry.  Smells gross.  I make a face.

In the parking lot, we sit in the car for a little while.  The sun feels so nice, I wish we could stay there, but I can tell Boyfriend is bored and I would get sunburned.  Boyfriend drives us home.  He takes the good way (no speed bumps).  Good job, Boyfriend.

Back to bed without changing clothes.  Boyfriend sets up laptop with headphones to catch up with me on Buffy.  Watches musical episode and loves it (of course), then episode where everyone forgets who they are.  Hilarious.  We laugh.  I sleep until 1am, and find Boyfriend still up.  Demand he goes to sleep.  Very grumpy.  Strip, get water, then back to sleep.  Forget to turn off alarm.

Wake up to alarm next morning (fuck).  Can’t get back to sleep.  Lie still, and try to ignore stomach.  Still being disagreeable, but no hurling so far.  Feeling optimistic about recovery and totally exhausted.  Think about little mice warriors for about an hour (re-reading Mouse Guard, so fucking cute).  Drink water, stay in bed all day.  Snap to attention at 3:02pm.  “Boyfriend!  Puppy Bowl!”  It’s Super Bowl Sunday, but who cares; the Puppy Bowl is on at 3 on Animal Planet.  We watch highlights online.  More adorable than predicted.  Kitten halftime show is a mess.  I feel a little better.

Four o’clock: Time to head over to friend’s house for birthday dinner.  Lie on couch and watch friend play Mass Effect 2.  Supercool female characters with awesome ninja abilities totally distracts me from squirly intestines.  Win!

Nine o’clock: Time for dinner.  Home made fried chicken, corn and carrots, garlic bread, macaroni and cheese.  I wash a bunch of dishes to feel useful.  Eat two pieces of chicken, half a corn on the cob, and some mac n’ cheese.  Astounded by my stomach’s agreement with said foods.

1045: Time to go home, but Boyfriend wants to stay and play Super Street Fighter IV.  Ballerina Friend volunteers!  We live close to each other anyway.  Boyfriend says he’ll be home soon.  I tell him to stop lying and have fun.

1120: Grumpy.  We head out and have a fun chat in the car.  Ballerina Friend is so nice.

Sleep.

3am: Boyfriend comes home.  I make fun of him as well as I can in my sickened, sleepy stupor.  Do a pretty good job.

721: Alarm goes off.  Hit snooze five or so times.  Get to work late.  No one seems to mind.  Food poisoning seems to get you out of any and all obligations.  Win!

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badness, humor, work

Stay away from my compy, blue hair

My boss has a company credit card that she uses very responsibly and sparsely.  In order to get approval for her purchases, she has to use this online system where she scans the receipts, attaches them to blahblahblah, it’s actually pretty streamline once you get it.

She asked me to help her do this recently, so I sat down in front of a program I had never once used or heard of, and figured it out.  We got it done, and we did it right.  Regardless, she wanted us to really master the program, so she and I went to a small seminar on how to use this program.  We found some seats, and a gray-haired woman stepped to the podium.  As the overhead projector flickered to life, I could feel my confidence in the seminar draining away.  What would this woman teach me that she hadn’t been taught by someone my age or younger?  I scanned the room for said youth and lo and behold, a young woman around my age sat two rows back from the front, anxiously watching the older woman (apparently her boss) fumble with switches and knobs to get the light at the podium to turn off.

I remember now what it’s like to sit through a boring lecture from an instructor so out of touch with her audience that she doesn’t understand the questions being asked.  Throughout the presentation, the young woman would quickly interject a clarification that cut straight to the point on a topic the lecturer couldn’t seem to stop hovering around and just land on.  The older woman spoke slowly (like we were children), and paused now and then to let some useless piece of information sink in, like, “You won’t be able to get to this page.  I have administration access, I can get here.  So can Lauren here.  So it’ll look different for you, because you don’t have the same level access as me… [long pause].”  She repeated herself several times (unnecessarily), she did not answer the questions I asked about site security, and had no examples set up to demonstrate how to actually  use the program we had attended the seminar to learn.

Toward the end of the presentation she remembered a few things she had forgotten to mention, and threw a bunch of unsequenced, seemingly important tidbits of info at us without visuals.  “Oh wait, I forgot.  You’re going to have to hit the Save button before you hit the Approve button or the pdf won’t stay attached.”  Three hands flew up.  What Save button?  “Oh, you can’t see it because I’ve already done this one.”  What Approve button?  “The one at the bottom of the page.”  A new hand goes up.  What page?  “The last one.  The one where we attached the pdf.”  Could you show us?  “[sigh] Uh, sure, lemme just… find… one…”

A few highlights:
“You’ll get an email with a link to the receipt.  [pause]  It’s like the little flag on your mailbox going up.”
“You see how these are shaped?  They look like folders, right?  Think of it like you have a bunch of folders on your desk.”
“When you scan your receipts, name them something that works for you so you remember what it is.”
“So that’s maybe new for those of you who have never scanned something before.”

Ok, so that last one might actually be legitimate, but I’ve been scanning shit since high school.  How have any of the people at this seminar not used a scanner before?

Young people: take charge.  You should be doing this kind of presentation, in half the time, with about a thousand percent more clarity for the audience.  I have nothing against old people, but my generation was raised with computers, so our brains are structured to understand how they function.  Anyone born before 1980 is just at a natural disadvantage.

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humor, life, martial arts, work

From the mouths of babes

Kids are cooler than adults.  Most of the time.

Example 1: Pain
Kids don’t define a day by the number of injuries they sustained.  Today I’m really sore from training, I’ll be sore tomorrow too, and in a few weeks, that’s all I’ll remember about this week.  I won’t remember that fun conversation I had with Michelle, or how, when she said, “I wanna learn how to do a flying kick,” and I said, “I can teach you that.  Check it out!” that I did a flying kick, followed by a jumping spinning roundhouse kick and almost nailed some lady that came into the office just then right in the FACE.  If I hadn’t written all this down, all I’d think about today is how much I want to use my friend’s hot tub because I’m so fucking sore that it’s hurting my back muscles to type this.

incapable of human speech

ALL HAIL HYPNOTOAD

Example 2: Truth
Most adults mush the truth around like spackle.  They use just enough to get the job done, and leave the rest sealed in a bucket.  Most kids will tell the truth about anything.
me: What does the frog say?
kid: Frogs don’t talk.
me: [Holy shit, he’s totally right.]

Example 3: Focus

adults hate crayons

Adults think kids have trouble concentrating.  They don’t.  Kids have amazing focus, they just don’t focus on stupid bullshit like getting dressed and doing homework.  But put them in front of their favorite toy, or a picture book, or box of crayons and a clean sheet of paper, and everything else in the world disappears completely.  They don’t worry about other crap.  They can do absolutely one thing at a time.  That’s what adults call meditation.

Example 4: Imagination
Fuck adults and their complete lack of creativity.  I joked with a group of kids and parents that I wish I had tentacles instead of hands so I could grab onto stuff better.  The kids laughed and said, “eew!”  The adults were just horrified and uncomfortable.  One of them actually looked sorry for me.  But the kids would not shut up about it.  “What if you had more hands instead?”  Jesus Christ, why didn’t I think of that?  Awesome.

I need to try to define my day with the funny, good stuff that happens, instead of what I’m doing this very second (being pissed that I have to teach a private lesson after the regular classes today, plus I invited my coworker buddy over to watch some anime or whatever, so I won’t have time to go hot tubbing, which is all I want to do right now because I can’t remember the last time I was in so much muscle-pain, and it’s honestly starting to freak me out).

I’m working on it.

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humor, life

I’m talkin’ ’bout zobos here, people

i'm gonna go with 'probably'

I’ve been writing a zombie novel for the last… year or so.  Although I haven’t done any writing for it in at least half a year.  Regardless, I need to get back on that, because I love to write, and zombies are just a great subject.  How much time have my friends and I spent chatting about what we would do in case of a zombie apocalypse?

The plan is roughly this: weapons, allies, supplies, in that order.

Weapons
We go to Sport Chalet, and pick up some aluminum bats.  They’re an ideal weapon because they’re light, fairly compact, they never wear out, they never run out of ammo, and they require very little upkeep (rust would be an issue eventually).  We also need to pick up some paintball masks to guard our mouths and eyes from any splattering zombie heads (which would be pretty excessive, what with the bats).  Plus, masks are fucking scary, and if we want to intimidate another group of people, masks can only help.  They would also lend to the group a sense of uniformity and solidarity; both essential when shit gets hairy because during a big fight, we have to be able to distinguish living from undead, and we have to watch each other’s backs.
Personally, I’d love to get my hands on a samurai sword, since they’re sharp as shit and my arms would get tired (and then ripped) after swinging that bat all over.  They’re so efficient; you don’t need a huge wind-up to get the job done (although if the dismembered head could still bite, this could prove to be a problem in the future.  Best to eliminate the problem entirely by smashing the head into oblivion).

Allies
Find your crew and stick together.  Being a loner is good for the sake of simplicity, but it makes sleeping, bathing, urinating, and pretty much everything else you do without your friend Aluminum Bat in your hands hazardous.  Someone has to be there to yell, “Watch out!” when that zobo you thought you took care of comes crawling out from under a car.  And people need to interact with each other.  It keeps the mind alert and relaxed in (what I would imagine) would otherwise be a mind-numbing, frantically stressful existence.

Supplies
When I say supplies, I mean basic stuff like rations, toiletries and clothing.  This stuff is last because with enough armed allies, you can take whatever you want from whomever you want.  The zombie apocalypse will be a war zone.  Survival is priority one.  Brutal, but true.

I’ve got zobos on the brain because I just watched Zombieland with some friends, and omg that shit was hilarious.  So much better than I thought it would be.  The kid with the rules?  Awesome.  My personal favorite?  The double-tap.  That’s just good policy.  I’m on board with that.

I’ve been writing a zombie novel for the last… year or so.  Although I haven’t done any writing for it in at least half a year.  Regardless, I need to get back on that, because I love to write, and zombies are just a great subject.  How much time have my friends and I spent chatting about what we would do in case of a zombie apocalypse?  The plan is generally this: weapons, allies, supplies, in that order.Weapons
We go to Sport Chalet, and pick up some aluminum bats.  They’re an ideal weapon because they’re light, fairly compact, they never wear out, they never run out of ammo, they require very little upkeep (rust would be an issue eventually).  We also need to pick up some paintball masks to guard our mouths and eyes from any splattering zombie heads (which would be pretty excessive, what with the bats).  Plus, masks are fucking scary, and if we want to intimidate another group of people, masks can only help.  They would also lend to the group a sense of uniformity and solidarity; both essential when shit gets hairy because during a big fight, we have to be able to distinguish living from undead, and we have to watch eachother’s backs.
Personally, I’d love to get my hands on a samurai sword, since they’re sharp as shit and my arms would get tired (and then ripped) after swinging that bat all over.  They’re so efficient; you don’t need a huge wind-up to get the job done (although if the dismembered head could still bite, this could prove to be a problem in the future.  Best to eliminate the problem entirely by smashing the head into oblivion).

Allies
Find your crew and stick together.  Being a loner is good for the sake of simplicity, but it makes sleeping, bathing, urinating, and pretty much everything else you do without your friend Aluminum Bat in your hands hazardous.  Soemone has to be there to yell, “Watch out!” when that zobo you thought you took care of comes crawling out from under a car.  And people need to interact with eachother.  It keeps the mind alert and relaxed in (what I would imagine) would otherwise be a mind-numbing, frantically stressful existence.

Supplies
When I say supplies, I mean basic stuff like rations, toiletries and clothing.  This stuff is last because with enough armed allies, you can take whatever you want from whomever you want.  The zombie apocalpyse will be a war zone.  Survival is priority one.  Brutal, but true.

I’ve got zobos on the brain because I just watched Zombieland with some friends, and omg that shit was hilarious.  The kid with the rules?  Awesome.  My personal favorite?  The double-tap.  That’s just good policy.  I’m on board with that.

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humor, work

Haiku distraction

Tenmyouya Hisashi, ur doin it rite

Like anyone else, I get bored during meetings and classes.  However, as previously mentioned in an earlier post, I have the uncanny ability to entertain myself pretty much all the time. When I got bored in high school, I would write poetry.  I quickly discovered the best kind of poetry to write in class is haiku, due to its quick and easy format.

Today I was in a meeting at work, and found myself… less than stimulated.  Hence:

So comfortable
with your eyes shut, little Ruth,
mole-boss in the dark.

My boss (let’s call her Ruth for now, for the sake of maintaining the integrity of the poem) has a strange habit of closing her eyes while she talks.  I’m not sure why she does it, but she can deliver a whole, long, elaborately constructed sentence without opening her eyes once.  It’s bizarre, and a little disconcerting.

None of the women
seem surprised that the men have
huddled together.

Meeting attendance by gender: Male : Female = 3:23.  The three of them sat together in a little row of inadequacy.  Pretty hilarious.

The men struggle to
stay awake, while the women’s
eyes, bright, sharp, alert.

It was all the three men could do to stay awake.  Two of them were on their Blackberries most of the time, and the third had his arms folded on the table with his head nodding dangerously low.

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